Too Close for Comfort
by nanuka02
Summary: When disaster strikes while the team is on the case, they must work together to get everyone to safety. Charlie and Colby have to deal with serious injuries that might have lasting effects.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This is a work of my imagination and does not give me any financial gain or benefit. I have not created, and do not own any of these characters - they are the property of Numbers and CBS. (If I did own these characters, I certainly would not have made half the cast be so selfish/egotist. I mean, they would at least have a _different_ annoying trait.) Okay, now that we've got the boring stuff out of the way, let's move on to the (hopefully) less boring stuff.

Warning: This is my first fanfic - I've read at _least_ a hundred of them and finally decided to give the writing of them a try!

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><p>David looked up to see the FBI-issued vehicle pulling up to the curb. He raised his eyebrows at Megan, surprised to see that his boss had arrived so quickly.<p>

"I thought they were supposed to meet us here, not follow us here," David said to his coworker. Megan shrugged.

"Yeah, well, that's Don for ya. Always trying to get ahead" He shook his head, watching as Don, Colby, and Charlie stepped out of the vehicle and walked towards them.

"Don, you left at least fifteen minutes behind us. How'd you get here so fast?" His employer rolled his eyes and mumbled something incoherent. "What was that?" David asked. Charlie grinned, a smirk filling his features.

"Well, David, I've got one word for you: math," Charlie said, and followed his older brother, who had already started to head inside the building. Colby started laughing.

"Man, that was awesome," he told Charlie, and then turned towards his intrigued co-workers. "So Whiz Kid over here cooked up some formulas, and said that he would be able to get us here at the same time as you guys. Well, Don didn't believe him and the next thing you know, well, here we are, and drinks for the team are on Don this Friday." David and Megan grinned.

"That means you too, Charlie," Colby added, nudging the young genius. Charlie grinned, ducking his head.

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><p>Megan, Colby and Charlie were upstairs, examining the crime scene. Megan paused in her work to watch Charlie, who leaning against a column and was scratching out some equations into a notebook, muttering to himself.<p>

She smirked, knowing how messy handwriting was. She wondered if he had ever wrote down an equation only to look at it later and find that he couldn't read his scribbles. She felt a sudden pain in her ribs and turned her head to her left to raise an eyebrow at Granger.

"_Reeves._ Come on, you're slacking. I had to call you at least five times," he said. She raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" He just smirked at her. She rolled her eyes, and for a moment he grinned, the smile reaching his eyes before he turned serious again. "Whatever. What's up?"

"So what do you think of this -" he started. But his voice was drowned out by a loud sound, and then he was lifted off his feet, suspended in the air for a moment before his merciless landing, his body meeting both floor and wall.

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><p>Colby Granger woke up to pain. He groaned, then tried to sit up and open his eyes all at once. <em>Well that didn't work out.<em> He let out another groan, squinting against the light that he could've sworn wasn't nearly as bright before, and fighting back a wave a nausea.

His hands flew to his head, cradling it as if that would actually do anything to soothe the pain. _Okay, Granger, take it easy. Slow down. _He started to ease himself into a sitting position leaning against the wall, but an intense, sharp pain in his left arm stopped him. He squeezed his eyes shut, head bent as a growl of agony came out unbidden.

His chest felt tight and he bent over, trying to cradle his hurt arm, his head, and his ribs all at once with his right arm. He could hear a familiar voice, but it sounded distorted somehow, as if he was on the phone and the person on the other line was on speakerphone and had stepped into another room.

He sucked in a short breath but his lungs protested before he could get in enough oxygen. He soon found himself gasping for air, in pain but not having enough breath to waste even on a grunt.

"Granger," a loud, concerned voice said. "Come on, man, breathe. You gotta breathe for me."

He tried to shake his head to tell the person that he _couldn't_ breathe, but of course the movement only served to make him more dizzy and disoriented.

"It's okay. It's okay, take a deep breath, as deep as you can manage. You're gonna be okay, you hear me?"

Granger knew he knew the speaker; the voice sounded familiar, but he could not place the voice, and that scared him. He knew he had a concussion, but how serious was it? The owner of the voice frantically yet carefully moved him to a better position.

Colby wondered how much longer it would've taken for him to pass out had not the gruff voice come over. In fact, that didn't sound like such a bad idea.

Then he wouldn't have to worry about nausea or his left arm, which he was pretty sure was not supposed to be quite so crooked. And he certainly wouldn't have to think so much about what was was such an involuntary action because really, who thinks about every breath they take?

His eyelids felt so heavy anyway, so he might as well just let them slide -"Granger!"The voice spoke again, sharply this time, to match the pain that he felt.

He stared up to see two identical faces that he knew should've been only one. The person was covered in dust, and was frowning, but he didn't seem upset, just concerned. Colby squinted up at the face, and a weak smile filled his face as he finally matched the name to the face.

For a moment, his eyes no longer felt heavy, and he felt safe, knowing that he would be protected now.

"Dad," Colby whispered. He reached out to touch his father with his right arm, but only swatted air.

"Dad? No - uh - Granger." the dad-not-dad figure put a hand on his right shoulder, which fortunately, happened to be his uninjured arm. His tone was softer, yet more commanding. Colby could feel the darkness calling to him, but his dad-not-dad kept talking in what the man probably thought was a quiet voice.

"Granger. Look at me. It's me, Don. I'm not your dad, I'm your boss. Don Eppes. You remember your name?" Don looked intently at Colby, his stomach pretending as if he were on a roller coaster ride. This was not good.

Colby had thought that he was his father, and his eyes were unfocused and he didn't quite seem to understand that he was actually supposed to respond to Don's question.

"Hey. Come on. What's your name?" Colby's eyes finally landed on him, and he almost wished that he hadn't. All he saw when he looked at them was fear, and pain, and confusion. He frowned, about to prompt Colby again when he spoke finally, his voice not much more than a hoarse whisper.

"Granger." The word was groaned more than it was said.

"Yeah, bud. What's your first name?" He watched as Colby frowned, clearly having trouble concentrating. He locked eyes with Don, looking more like a child who had lost their parents than the stoic agent and former soldier that he was.

"I don't know." He grabbed Don's arm with his left arm, his grip just as strong as it would've been if he hadn't been laying there helplessly, struggling to breathe, failing to remember his own name.

His head jerked and Don wasn't sure if it was just because Colby's entire body was trembling, or because he was trying communicate something.

Then he his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slipped into blissful oblivion. Don simultaneously frowned and sighed in relief.

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><p>David and Don had been two doors down when they were lifted off their feet. David woke up first, laying on the ground for a moment before slowly sitting up and checking himself out.<p>

Surprisingly, he seemed to be ok, other than the headache and general soreness. He stood up, placing his palm on the wall for support when he got lightheaded about halfway up.

Closing his eyes momentarily, rubbing his aching head, resting his weight on his knees. Yep, probably had a concussion. Oh, well - nothing a few days of bedrest wouldn't cure. He looked around the room, suddenly spotting his boss. "

Don," he called. He frowned and stood up to check on to his boss, who had been thrown across the room. When he put his weight on his right leg, though, he realized that his earlier assessments were wrong.

He let out a howl of pain, using the wall again to guide him back into a sitting position before pulling his pant leg up to his knee to assess the damage. He sucked in a sharp breath, feeling a wave of nausea when he was met by the sight of his own ankle bone. He groaned in irritation. Now _that_ would require much more than just a few days of bedrest - more like surgery and several months of therapy.

His plan had been to see if he could find the others and help everyone get out the building. Now it was clear that _he_ would need some rescuing. He frowned, wondering how he had missed that injury. It seemed to be all he could focus on now. Maybe it was him trying to walk on it, or the fact that he expected it to hurt now that he had discovered it. Either way, it was no longer something that he could ignore.

He looked up when Don moaned and started to sit up. David considered trying to drag himself over to Don to check on him, but his ankle was already yelling at him loud enough; he certainly didn't need to provoke it further. Instead, he settled for talking.

"Don, can you hear me? You ok, man?" Don looked at him for a moment before slowly nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so," Don said. David watched as his superior sat up slowly, clearly checking himself for injuries. He slowly rose to his feet. "I think I'm good, just a little sore. How 'bout you, Sinclair?"

David sighed, shaking his head and then grimacing when that little movement shook his whole body, causing his leg to shift painfully.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere for a while," he said, motioning to his wounded leg. Don's eyes followed his motion, and he winced in sympathy. He knelt down next to David, inspecting the injury without touching it. He shook his head, placing a hand on David's shoulder.

"Hang in there, buddy," he told him. "I'm gonna see if I can find Charlie or the others. You just sit tight." David rolled his eyes. If he tried to get up and actually walk, he would probably just pass out on the concrete floor. Then again, passing out sounded pretty nice right about now - it wasn't like he or Don had any painkillers readily available.

"Right. Be careful, Don," he said sincerely. Don nodded, glancing back at his friend's leg before he walked off to find his brother and the rest of his team.


	2. Chapter 2

This is somewhat of a short chapter, I think, compared to the last one, but I wanted to get something out. I know how frustrating it is to read something that doesn't get updated! And I really appreciate your reviews, follows, and faves! It delights and excites me to no end - so encouraging! I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you have any ideas for what you want to happen next, please feel free to write them in the review section. I will take any and all ideas into consideration.

Update: Actually, I have zero ideas on how to continue this story or what direction to take it in. I obviously won't leave it there, but should I end it in the next chapter? It seems silly to draw out the rescue...

Anyway, I am not going to add another chapter until I get some feedback on how to continue. So if you like this story, the review button is your friend!

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><p>The first thing that Megan noticed when she woke up was the sound of a man groaning in pain and talking frantically. <em>Sounds familiar...Charlie!<em>

She gasped, and looking around the room, realized what had probably happened. It didn't take long for her eyes to land on Charlie's limp figure, and she cautiously stood up, surprised but relieved when her head didn't spin enough to make her fall.

Charlie lifted his head to see Megan rushing towards him, and jumped. She made sure not to change her facial expression too much when she saw that his right leg was pinned beneath a pile of crumpled cement. His hands were clutching his trapped leg tightly, and his face was pale.

If he hadn't been on the ground already she would've guided him to a seat to keep him from passing out and hitting his head. As it was, he didn't look like he would be clinging to consciousness for much longer.

She knelt down down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, hoping the touch would provide some comfort to her normally non-tactile friend. She looked into his dark brown eyes, frowning when she saw pure terror instead of the usual excitement and understanding.

His eyes watered, tears dangerously close to falling down his face, and he blinked rapidly as he broke the relative silence with a sudden burst of discourse.

"I can't get out," he said, his voice quivering. He looked up at her with those same puppy dog eyes that must've allowed him to get his way quite often as a child - and his dark, curly locks didn't hurt either.

"My leg - it's stuck - I can't get out," he said. "Megan, help me," he pleaded. He grabbed her arm,his body trembling. His voice had gotten higher as he spoke and she saw his chest heaving as he took in breaths in gulps.

She had to get him to calm down before he started hyperventilating.

"Charlie," she said softly. He didn't seem to hear her. Instead, he pulled harshly at his leg, clearly doing his already injured limb more harm in his desperate but futile attempt to free himself. "Charlie, _look _at me," said, more forcefully this time.

She cupped his face, gently turning his head towards her. His eyes, however, remained on his leg, and he took in a shuddering breath.

"It hurts. Please, get me out, get me _out_. Don, help me," he said.

His voice reminded Megan of her of her five-year old niece when she fell off her bike. But this was a much more grave situation than a child falling off her bicycle. To be honest, she was terrified, stomach turning in fear for Charlie.

It looked bad - it didn't look like she would be able to get him out, certainly not by herself. She didn't know where the rest of the team was, but she knew that Charlie wouldn't last much longer without medical attention.

He was already fading fast, which was no surprise. A pool of blood had collected from his leg, and a trickle of blood was still oozing out of a deep gash about an inch above his left eye. It was clear that he had at least a concussion; the only question was how serious it was.

Charlie's head began to droop again, and she squeezed his shoulder tightly, not wanting to shake him in his condition.

"Mmm." Charlie's eyes opened slowly. "Don," he said. "You're here." Megan's took in a sharp breath, aghast. If Charlie thought that she was his brother, he couldn't be in good shape.

"No Charlie, it's Megan. _Megan._" Charlie's eyes slid close again. _Don't you dare, Charlie. Don't give up on me. You _can't _fall asleep yet - you can't _die_. Don would have my head if I let anything happen to you. _

"Hey, no, don't do that. You gotta stay awake just a little while longer," she said. Charlie's head bobbed up and down.

"Mmm. 'M awake. Leg hurss," he slurred.

"I know, Charlie, I know. But you're gonna be okay. We'll get you out," she said. He looked at her again with those pleading eyes.

"Don?" he asked drowsily.

"I'm sure he's okay, Charlie, you know your brother. He's too stubborn not to make it out of here. And you are, too." His lips came up slightly, a small smile on his face.

"Get it from dad," he said softly. "Stubborn ole man." His eyes closed again and his head rested on her shoulder. She smiled fondly, squeezing his shoulder again.

"Hey. Charlie. Hey, we'll make it. They're send a rescue team and they'll get us out. They'll get us _all_ out. Okay?"

Charlie's eyes widened, and he blinked in surprise, looking as if he hadn't quite realized that she was there. He nodded slowly, then suddenly sat up, calling Don's name. He groaned, hands flying up to grasp his head, as if that would do anything to ease the pain, then sagged against her again.

"Easy, there, Charlie," she said.

She grasped his shoulders as he began to slump forward, and instead of sagging forward, he leaned heavily into her. She wrapped her arms around his shivering body, rubbing his shoulders.

"You have to find Don," he mumbled. "Make sure he's okay."

His eyes were drooping, and his arm slid down his body, landing in Megan's lap and leaving a crimson trail.

Megan sighed as his eyes closed. She reached around him to place two fingers on his neck, reassuring herself that this dead weight in her arms was still alive, hoping that rescue would come soon enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Well, it took about a week for me to figure out how to continue this story - well also whether or not to continue it (but your reviews convinced me to keep writing!). Well anyway, then it was an extra few days to actually _write_ the thing - and I'm so glad you guys wrote those reviews, because I had a lot of fun writing it! Hope you all have a good time reading it.

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><p>Charlie would have liked to have woken up to a steady beeping sound, because at least that would've been something that he could've ignored pretty easily. Instead, he was stuck entering into consciousness only to hear his father scolding his older brother.<p>

He opened his eyes, groaning as he quickly closed them again as a shield against the painful brightness. The white walls seemed to bounce around all the light in the room and reflect it directly into his pupils. He tried again, this time only opening his eyes in slits.

_Better - I guess. Still too bright, though. Wait a minute...the last thing I remember was sitting with Megan, and my leg was on fire. Now, it just feels kind of numb. What happened?_

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><p>Don was sitting next to Charlie's bed, holding his little brother's limp had in his own, the one that didn't have an IV sticking out of it. His eyes watched his brother's chest rise and fall with each breath to ensure that he <em>was <em>breathing, trying not to remember when it stopped in the ambulance.

He tried to stay focused on the fact that his brother was breathing at the moment, but all he could think about was how fragile life was.

One moment, his brother was breathing. The next moment, the paramedics were scrambling to save his life in that professional manner that proved just how many times they had done it before. And as he watched them, all he could hope was that Charlie would be another patient that the paramedics saved.

And right now, watching over his brother, all he could hope for was one more breath, one more rise, one more beep. But as scary as that had been - as it was, for Don, he knew that it would be so much worse for his brother when he woke up.

All he could do was wait - for his brother to wake up, for his father to arrive, for the guilt over the decision he'd made to dissipate. _Looks like I'll be waiting for awhile._

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><p>It had taken hours of listless waiting around until a doctor walked up in scrubs and called Megan's name. Then it was another hour or two of waiting around in a room until the doctor released her - the man had said that she'd gotten a "mild concussion" and that he wanted her to "stay for a bit for observation - you know, just in case."<p>

And then he had ordered her a CT scan, which added another hour. The breakdown she'd had when the doctor told her that she would be alright probably hadn't helped. She chuckled softly as she recalled the way the doctor had raised his eyebrows and touched her shoulder gently in concern.

He had rubbed her back, which both reminded her of the way her father used to soothe her when she was a child, and made her feel foolish for her outburst. She knew the cause of it, of course - she was, after all, a therapist.

She had visited David, Colby, and Don earlier. David and Colby both had pretty severe injuries - they weren't life threatening, but it would certainly take them off their feet, probably for several months.

She had visited Don last - if she could, she might not have gone at all, but she knew that she had to. She wouldn't forget the look of pure devastation, of crushing guilt on her boss's face, not for a long time.

She closed her eyes, having no trouble picturing the way that he'd been slumped over in a chair, posture screaming helpless family member rather than stoic FBI agent, as she was used to.

And she certainly had no trouble forgetting the look of desperation on Charlie's face when he realized that his leg was trapped. For all that was going through her mind, she could only imagine what must've been going through his.

It seemed ridiculous, how empty the loss of your boss's brother's limb could make you feel.

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><p>Alan Eppes had been sitting at home, feeling quite grumpy. Neither of his sons would answer their phones, and dinner had gotten cold.<p>

And then he had reheated his portion, and eaten alone. Normally he would've been a little more worried, but today was already a bad day. He missed Margaret, and kept staring at her picture in the hallway.

He wished that he could only remember her as she was in that picture, with the energy of a twenty-two year old and the wisdom of an eighty-year old. But that wouldn't really be fair - you have to remember the bad things, the pain and the rain, and not just the beautiful things that warm our hearts and uplift our spirits.

He sighed. It was easier to be crabby than to be sad, easier to be a mean old man than to an unhappy one. He had even gone as far as to go through the old family photo album, and then had rummaged through the attic until he found the VHS of his and Margaret's wedding.

He had smiled and sobbed and even shouted his way through that tape. Then he had went back upstairs to grab some more tapes, but these included the boys. He was in a few of them, but mostly as voiceover.

He frowned. Once Charlie came home and got some food in him, he would get a long lecture about his upkeep of the house - sure, he stayed their for free, but he was the boy's father.

And that didn't excuse the mess that the attic was in. _How many times have I told that boy to clean upstairs?_ He was in the middle of calling Don for the twenty-seventh time that day when the doorbell.

"Who could that be, bothering me at this hour," he griped as he made his way to the front door. "It had _better_ be Don and Charlie, or I'm gonna kill 'em. In fact, maybe it had better not quite yet, cause I'm gonna _kill 'em,_" he muttered.

In that moment, he swung the front door open, playing very much the part of a grumpy old man. He took a step back, surprised to see Megan standing before him.

"Megan! I, uh - oh! Please, come in, dear." She gave him a tired smile, and he stepped to the side to let her inside, closing the door behind her.

"Alan," she began, but he stopped her.

"Well, let take a seat," he told her, his voice still gruff but his features more gentle. "Let me get you something to drink. What would you like? There's milk, juice, water, or I can put on some coffee - yes, it looks like you need a strong brew. Let me just get that started…"

"Alan," she repeated softly. She put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the kitchen. "I think it's you who needs to sit down. I'm fine, really."

Later on, he would look back and wonder what took him so long to realize that something was wrong. Once he had stopped worrying quite so much about Charlie, he would try to determine what it was that made him miss all of the warning signs that should've been so obvious.

Her tired face, her weary posture, her excessive kindness, and most importantly, the dozens of missed calls between his two sons. Even Charlie, his absent-minded son, had never forgotten to charge his cell phone for _that_ long.

And Don always had his cell readily available in case of an emergency - there was no _way_ that he would've missed that many calls unless something terrible had happened.

He let Megan lead him to a chair, and listened to her tell him how there had been an explosion at a site, a bomb, and that Charlie had gotten severely injured, but that Don would be okay. She kept saying that, that Don would be okay.

Not that he wasn't grateful, but did she really expect that to make up for the fact that his youngest was hurt? He and Margaret had never been too surprised to hear of another injury that their oldest had incurred while on a case.

But never in a million years would Alan had thought that Charlie would get hurt. He was supposed to be the guy who solved crime with math. He was supposed to be behind the scenes, like the crew for a play, never to be seen - never to be harmed.

_Why couldn't he protect him? Why couldn't Don protect my little boy? _He looked out the window, not remembering how he had gotten from the chair in his kitchen to the passenger's seat of Megan's car.

He reached for another Kleenex that Megan had placed on the side, wiping away hot, angry tears that he didn't remember falling.

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><p>The door to Charlie's hospital room opened abruptly, but Don didn't look up, assuming that it was the nurse again. Instead, he heard his father cursing - something that he hadn't heard in quite a while. His head snapped up, hands still wrapped around his brother's. "Dad," he said in a soft, shaking voice.<p>

"What on earth were you thinking?" Alan's voice was unforgiving. Don hadn't seen him this mad since Charlie hid out in the garage in the last three months of their mother's life.

"You were supposed to protect him - and now look at him. He's in the hospital - he could've _died_, Donald. He could've died, tonight. We already lost Margaret, and now I almost lost Charlie."

Don stood up, gently setting down his brother's hand. His stared at his father in disbelief. His father had a tendency to fret now, scold later. But instead of worrying about Charlie, he had barely looked at him since he walked in the room.

"Dad, I'm sorry," Don said. Alan scoffed.

"You're sorry? Oh, that's original. You really think that's going to change anything? It's certainly not going to fix your brother."

"Dad, please, you'll wake up Charlie."

"Well we wouldn't have to worry about that if you had just done what you were supposed to do and taken care of Charlie. Sorry doesn't cut it. I'm ashamed of you, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I wouldn't blame Charlie if he never forgave you."

"Dad, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had to decide - I - I did what I thought was best -." At that moment, a voice from behind Don stopped him, and he turned around to see Charlie awake, shaking and breathing heavily. He kept patting the sheets next to his leg, as if he was expecting to find something that wasn't there. _Yeah, just a limb,_ Don thought.

"My leg! Where is - what happened? Don! Dad? Help me." Alan, suddenly turning into the mother hen that Don was used to, rushed to Charlie's side, rubbing his back as he reached over and pressed the call button. Don took his brother's hand again, and Charlie, who usually was not the most tactile person, clung to Don and Alan.


End file.
